


j'en ai rêvé

by l0velikeoxygen



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Homelessness, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-05-08 09:46:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14691612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/l0velikeoxygen/pseuds/l0velikeoxygen
Summary: Donghyuck works in a convenience store. Mark is everythingbutconvenient.





	j'en ai rêvé

**Author's Note:**

> muy estresante 
> 
> \- mars

Donghyuck works in a convenience store. Mark is everything but convenient.

-

“I won't ask you again,” Donghyuck warns - he's never been very good at emulating a formidable tone, so there's a voice in the back of head that tells him everything he says comes out as a prepubescent squeak. Either way, he hopes the warning speaks for itself. “You can eat all the Salmiakki you want after you pay for it.”

The old man looks up at him, startled, and it's hard to find it in his heart to scold a pensioner - even if the man is a repeat offender, it seems a little mean when the man is clearly losing his mind. It's not his shop, however, and there are strict rules about how he should be a little brusque with “the thief who eats all of our salted licorice”. He doesn't want the manager to call the police, however, and so snatches the red-and-black packet from out of his wrinkled hands. He doesn't understand the obsession, but it doesn't matter. With a frown, the man miserably shuffles away from Donghyuck. 

When he realises the packet isn't even opened yet, he feels even worse, like, on the off-chance, he was even going to pay for it. 

Donghyuck shrugs it off, fulfilling the role of the bored teenager that was his destiny since he turned thirteen, and takes a brief glance at the clock. It's nearly ten o’clock in the evening, but wouldn't have been able to tell otherwise. Evenings are brief, nights are long - such is nature, though. He returns to where he was sat behind the cashier and slings his legs up onto the countertop. People don't come in past this time - even in such a bustling city, the nights are just hiemal enough to not bother buying anything, and simply enter the shop for a few minutes so that they can defrost their frozen limbs. 

Usually, he'd study - it's lonely and dull when nobody's around, so why not make the best of a bad situation? As though being cold isn't bad enough, he's bored rigid with pages of illegible notes he made in his classes throughout the day. Even if there's no homework to speak of, his parents are proud to call him their “diligent son” - thing is, he's not really. Revising his notes isn't diligence, it's fear. Failing his exams isn't an option, but since the coffee machine has gone kaput, he's not got the energy to care. When he gets home, he'll maybe study - there's a new game that lies at the bottom of his backpack that he bought on the way to work.

Priorities, right?

After chewing his fingernails for a little bit, there's not much else to do. You can leave soon, he reminds himself. Just half an hour, okay? 

It’s not okay, but it's fine. Half an hour is manageable - although, if he's being completely honest, it would be more manageable if somebody told him how to turn the heating up. Wearing two layered hoodies probably puts about four kilogrammes on him. It's plain mean, really. The old system was self-explanatory - twist the knob, increase the temperature - but now it's all buttons and Bluetooth. He hates the modern world, but only inwardly - there's moments where he wants to scream, of course, but mainly that's when a passerby speed-walking by the store causes the automatic door to open and let in a startling breeze. 

Fuck it. He grabs the bag of licorice that he took from the man, pulls it open and places one on his tongue. It was spoiled produce, he’ll say. I was taking one for the team.

Of course, it's the next twenty-nine minutes that go smoothly - just as soon as he's wrapped himself up in his winter coat, scarf, and gloves, someone decides to come in. He can't lock up if there's someone in the shop, so swallows his vicious words down and tries to put on a complaisant expression.

He loses the boy for a second, distracted by the sudden hum of the radio malfunctioning, and, to be completely honest, the customer is about five foot nothing and doesn't exactly scream “I’m going to fuck shit up for you, Donghyuck”. It’s not like he even knows his name, though, and if he attempted to read the name tag, Donghyuck bets ten euros that he can't pronounce it. Still, it's a little unnerving losing somebody in such a small shop. His cognitive ability is called to question and, more importantly, he's not aware of the packets of licorice that the person is stuffing in their coat pockets.

When he comes up to the counter with a shit-eating grin and a can of Cola, Donghyuck feels inclined to ask, “You're a thief?”

It's a shot in the dark, obviously - a bad decision, maybe. Thing is, he doesn't genuinely suspect him. If he is, though, then the splutter all thieves give after being accused will confirm Donghyuck's outlandish theory about the boy vanishing into thin air and will save him from getting a telling-off from his boss. 

And the boy doesn't just splutter, he chokes. 

“I -”

“Got you,” Donghyuck laughs, pointing a finger-gun at the boy and watching as his expression turns from full-of-himself to sour, like he's sucked a lemon or something. Donghyuck's not great at metaphors. “You mind emptying your pockets? I won't -”

“Fuck you, man,” the boy spits. “I gotta eat -”

Donghyuck rolls his eyes. “Spare me the sob story. I _need_ this job, asshole.”

“I have, like, fifty-seven cents to my name. Can't you just - I dunno, man, I - look, you get it, right? I'm hungry.”

“I just think you're greedy,” Donghyuck snaps. He's tired and hungry himself, sure, and probably a bit too temperamental to be having this conversation right now. “Just empty your pockets.”

“No!”

“Jesus - this isn't protocol.”

“Fuck your protocol,” the boy scowls. Truth be told, Donghyuck still isn't quite sure what's happening - the thief is actually young-looking, small enough to fit in the palm of his hand, cute. He's not the type to swear - from looks alone, that is - and there's a bit of Donghyuck that just pities him for being so desperate. He can't do anything, though - it's not his problem, right?

The change feels _really_ heavy in his pockets.

“Alright, fine, God,” Donghyuck says, as though the boy was trying to persuade him to do something. He wasn't, not really - he was just attempting to justify his situation which, Donghyuck admits, is apparent from the width of his scrawny wrist and freezing cold hands. It’s not a good idea for anybody to be on the streets, especially somebody who looks like they'd weigh forty-five kilogrammes soaking wet. He scoops some coins from his pocket and slams them on the counter, keeping his eyes fixed on the boy for the entire duration. “I’ll - just this once, I’ll pay for the food. Just empty your pockets, okay?”

He does what he's told. Donghyuck watches intently as he places four packets of licorice on the white plastic. The cola included, it's not even that expensive - but someone in a dire situation might think it is, perhaps. 

“Just once, okay?”

The boy nods. Donghyuck notices he's a lot more complaisant if he’s promised food. 

-

“I just don't get it,” Renjun sulks, shoulders slackened and fingers wrapped a cold fry that he occasionally pokes into the splattered ketchup on his burger wrapper. His face screams _misery_ , but Donghyuck doesn't quite get what he's on about, either. It would be easier to decipher what Renjun meant if he spoke in real words, not metaphors. The guy thinks he's a poet - he's just a weird teenager when it comes down to it, however, but Donghyuck is the last person who would buy into his 'teenage angst’ bullshit, anyway. 

Donghyuck sighs. He can smell the grease from the fast food he left untouched in front of him, and there's not much he really needs to elaborate on with a sigh. He's said all that he needs to say, but mutters, “God.” For clarification of his misunderstanding more than anything.

“We should go for a walk,” Renjun suggests. They stare out of the window simultaneously, noting the blanketing layer of snow across the grey pavements. Faint street lights glow in the distance, but it's only mid-afternoon. This restaurant - as nice as it is - is a weird contest. The city doesn't have that many modern buildings, so the interior is white and sparkling as compared to the crumbling brick of a Swedish-built establishment. Crows pick at the fries people place on the outside windowsills - they should really glue them shut, Donghyuck thinks. It's a pointless thought, though, that's not worth saying out loud. 

Besides, Renjun loves the crows.

“Maybe,” Donghyuck mutters. He swears that he gets along with Renjun - he doesn't hang out with people he doesn't like, but there's things on his mind that he doesn't want to talk about. If he opens up with Renjun, the other will eventually drag the truth out of him - even if he wasn't looking for it in the first place. “I dunno.”

“Right,” Renjun hums. He brushes the crumbs off his hands. “You're not going to eat that?”

Donghyuck raises an eyebrow, slightly moving his head from where it lies, cupped in his hands. “No, I’m not hungry.”

“What a waste. You should try being more eco-friendly,” he tuts. “I’m going for a piss. I'll be right back.”

He rolls his eyes again, staring at the window gormlessly. The white spans for miles, and he couldn't think of anything worse than going out in that weather. The ripped jeans were a bad choice, but he should've been able to predict such a snowy spell. Yawning, he brings his knees up to his chin and wraps his arms around his legs. 

“You’re just gonna throw that in the bin, huh?” a small voice snorts. Sardonically, even. He feels a chill run down his bony spine as a figure slides down on the seat opposite his. If it was Renjun, the tone would be softly critical - instead, he sees him, and realises his comment was ladened with spite. 

“Uh,” Donghyuck mutters. “Yeah, I guess.”

“I'll eat it.”

Donghyuck pushes the tray to him, too exhausted to question it. He doesn't look the boy in the eyes as he scarfs it down, barely chewing as he swallows large mouthfuls of the burger and fries. He must be hungry, but that seems like a dumb observation - nobody eats like that if they're _not_ hungry. Sighing, Donghyuck comments, “That went down quick.” 

“Yeah,” the boy confirms, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “I'm Mark, by the way.”

“Donghyuck,” he responds. 

“Cool name. Less cool person.”

He sighs. “I fed you, didn't I?”

“Nah, it's not that,” Mark snorts. “It’s just that you're wearing a _Mickey Mouse_ t-shirt at your big age.”

“I'm seventeen,” Donghyuck defends. 

“Same. But I’m not lame like you, so…”

Renjun approaches them quietly, his arms crossed across his stomach. Donghyuck feels unsettled, but it's not for any good reason - it's not like he's _embarrassed_ of Mark, right? “This is Mark,” Donghyuck introduces. “Renjun.”

“I gotta dash, man. Thanks for the burger - I’ve been waiting for somebody to leave a meal like that for hours. I've only had, like, three bites of a burger and two fries.”

“All day?” Renjun asks, horrified.

Mark shuffles awkwardly, seemingly considering the next words he says a bit more carefully as he picks at the loose threads of skin around his nails. “All week. But it's okay. I'm good. Johnny says he'll look after me, so he took me here. But everyone's so greedy - I, um, dunno.”

“Jesus,” Renjun mutters, beneath his breath. 

“Nice meeting you, though, Renjun and Donghyuck - again. We should hang out more, especially if you bring food.”

“How do I find you?” Donghyuck questions. 

“I don't have a phone - or an address, per se...But I’ll be around, yeah? Via snail mail?”

-

Mid-December, the city’s weather gets a whole lot worse.

It's bad enough waiting for the bus to Jaemin's house, which is _freezing_ \- one tap, and the frosted glass encasing would shatter into shards of sharp snowflakes. Donghyuck walks home most days, but he's been promised an all-nighter, composed of too much junk food, too many violent video games and Jaemin's mom screaming at them to sleep. It’s gonna be a good night, essentially. After spending weeks revising for a test that he had earlier, celebration is in order. Not that he feels he's done particularly well, of course - he spent half the time freezing in the school hall and staring out of the window, wondering what it would be like if he didn't go to school at all.

Donghyuck's mom told him he “had it easy”, but it never feels that way. Part of him wants to drop out and screw up the idea of a future altogether, but that's not an option. His parents would _never_ forgive him - in fact, he envisions that they'd be so furious that they'd throw him out. Still, he clears his mind of those post-exam blues and tries to fixate his unfocused gaze on Jaemin's sharp cheekbones. He's mid-laugh, cheeks flushed from the nipping wind, and look at Jeno expectantly. Between the two of them, there's no real room for Donghyuck. If this was an American movie, he'd smack Jeno across the face and accuse him of stealing his best friend - but it's _not_ , so he grins and bares it. Sometimes, that's all anybody can do.

His jumper pools over his hand as he rests his chin in it. “It’s so cold - ah, man,” Donghyuck complains. He finds it much easier to complain, though, than to do anything. Not that he can change the weather - that's a given - but Jaemin shoots him an accusing look, saying, “You can have my scarf, then.”

“No,” Donghyuck says, sullenly. He stares at the snowflakes, shoving half of his sneaker into the snow until it disappears completely. “I just can't - I’ve got things on my mind.”

“But that doesn't stop you from taking my scarf, moody,” Jaemin pouts, shoving Donghyuck's shoulder playfully. “What's up? The test went really well, it was so much easier -”

Donghyuck sighs. “It's nothing. Just overthinking things, I guess.”

At that exact moment, another - from across the bus stop - exhales deeply also, and if Donghyuck were still young, he would say jinx and catch them for copying. But it's - it's not like that anymore, and it startles him a little more than it probably should. His eyes trail to an odd-looking man, somewhere between young and old - it hardly makes sense in his head, but eyes that scream _experience_ slightly intimidate him. He feels too young, too overconfident in his own maturity - especially on a face that young, too, there's a small amount of jealousy in the pit of his stomach. Just a little, though.

Donghyuck doesn't want that kind of experience. 

The man - or boy, rather - kind of reminds him of Mark. He's wearing a baggy t-shirt, skinny jeans that ripple around his thighs, has unbrushed hair. His face is sharp and angular, but not in the way Jaemin's face is - that angular shape is consequential. Not eating enough will have that effect on a person - he looks half-starved, lonely, distant. His eyes are as cloudy as the glass, his skin as blue as the nighttime sky. 

Donghyuck worries, but Jaemin and Jeno seem to be too absorbed in one another to look. He envies them. He wants to close his eyes, but it seems that Mark has pinned them wide open. His voice should've been softer when says, “Hey.” The man needs comfort, not judgement. A hot meal and a warm coat would go a long way. “I’m Donghyuck,” he continues. “I -”

“Donghyuck? Mark told me about you, y’know,” the man says. He smiles widely, but it's a little disconcerting. His words come out strangely, not catering to the intricate sounds of the language. “He said you were really special.”

As though it hadn't occurred to him before - properly, at least - Donghyuck quickly asks, “He's okay, though?”

Jaemin lays a hand on his shoulder. “Who's okay? Or not?”

“Mark's fine,” the man confirms. “It's fine. Everything's fine, he's - doing better. I know I’m not as cute or likable, but do you have any spare change?”

For reassuring Donghyuck of Mark's safety - even though he says to himself that he shouldn't care - he's inclined to give the man every penny in his wallet. He manages just over ten euros, but the man seems overly grateful. “God, thank you so much,” he gushes. “I’m Johnny, by the way.”

“Jo-nne?” he attempts. The sounds don't fit right on his tongue. The name is foreign - just as Mark is - but for some reason, he can't mouthe it until it makes sense. 

“Johnny,” Jeno informs, easily. “Have you got a secret life you're not telling us about, Donghyuck?”

“No, it's - it's not that,” Donghyuck mutters. “You don't sleep on the streets, right? Mark doesn't -”

“We try not to,” he chuckles, running a hand through his hair. “It's a small world, right? Or a small city, in fact.” He stares at the snowflakes. “I wonder - you're - you are a good person. And I like that.”

“Donghyuck,” Jeno hisses. “We're gonna miss the bus. Thanks for talking, Johnny - we, um -”

“Uh,” Jaemin mutters, walking Donghyuck to the entrance of the bus-stop. The bus is a few metres away, moving quietly through the thick snow on the roads, so it gives the other enough time to say, “What's that all about, then?”

“It doesn't matter,” Donghyuck dismisses. “We can't - surely -”

Johnny looks up hopefully, overhearing the conversation. “I mean,” Donghyuck mumbles. “We have to, don't we?”

Jeno wraps his arms around Jaemin's shoulders. “It’s tricky, it really is,” he sighs. “But we've done all we can do.”

Donghyuck shudders as the bus pulls up to the stop. “Don't act all saintly.”

-

Donghyuck rolls his eyes so far that they might slip to the back of his skull.

It's drizzling, but still cold enough that every inch of exposed skin is covered in goose-pimples. Yukhei tips his head back, laughing hysterically in his idiosyncratic fashion, and he feels like he could fall into that laugh, too. It's infectious. He's tired and his bones ache, but Yukhei skips along in the snow - it's slightly melted from the rain, but there's enough to last for a long period of drizzle. It won't rain for long, though - soon, it'll snow again.

In the afternoon, there's just enough light to spill down the alleyways and highlight every imperfection in every building, but it'll get dark quickly. It always does. Snow lodges itself on windowsills and reminders of the weather flutter in Yukhei's messy hair, but it doesn't seem to bother him all that much. A melted drop of water dribbles down his cheekbone, Donghyuck's eyes following the small detail until it falls to the ground.

Donghyuck's kind of lost what they were even laughing about, too webbed into his own mind, but he smiles sympathetically.

“I just -” Yukhei stops halfway through, emptying his throat of a hearty laugh. “I can't believe it, man -”

“Hm,” Donghyuck mumbles. His boots make feet-shaped holes in the snow so, if he were to turn back, he imagines a long road of their imprints. “Do you think about university, Yukhei? I would, but it gives me such a bad migraine.”

Yukhei is all limbs, Donghyuck notices, as he rakes slender fingers through his hair and his sleeve hangs off his arm. His face softens, the laugh fading, and Donghyuck can't help but feel a little guilty for changing the topic - if he even knew what it was beforehand. 

“Ah,” he mutters. He’s a good few centimetres Donghyuck's senior, despite only being a little older, and looms like the prophetic elephant in the room. His accent is a little rusty, but Donghyuck doesn't blame him - he doesn't know too many people who haven't lived in the city their entire lives. It’s an odd choice, though. He sees the city as home for nothing but objectionable weather and rivers, but some people like snow and large, spanning beds of water. “I mean, my parents want me to go somewhere near. But I was thinking maybe I'd go back to Hong Kong, y’know?”

Donghyuck smiles. Everyone leaves - eventually, that is. Even he was considering abandoning it all, learning a new language, emigrating. His mother tells him to wait, put his savings in an account while interest rates are high, stay - so he will, for a bit. He isn't the type to stop doing what he wants because someone says no, but arguing with his mother is like talking to a brick wall. 

A bit discouraged, he asks, “Sometime soon, then?”

“I'll apply to somewhere in the city - across the country, even,” he explains. “But I don't wanna go. Who does?”

“Well, you can't just travel.”

“I could,” Yukhei says, staring at the darkening sky. “I don't want things to change.”

It snows. Not like it hadn't been before, but hard. Yukhei pulls his head up, but they spend a little time holding hands as they sit in the snowfall. With company, it feels like a scene ripped straight from glossy magazines - alone, the snow is cumbersome. Their backs against the wall, eyes on the sky, mouths stationary.

“I think - about the future, I mean - that things have to change. But I don't want them to,” Yukhei admits. “I never want to feel lonely - these streets are so tall, this city so empty - I don't know anyone at all, but, at the same time, I know everybody. No face is different from the next.”

“Yeah,” Donghyuck agrees. “Being lonely is horrid. There's nothing worse.”

Yukhei shuffles, rubbing Donghyuck's shoulder. “We should go - my fingers feel like they're gonna drop off.”

They walk in silence, but it's not uncomfortable. If anything, it's better than being lost in a laugh he doesn't understand. Donghyuck follows less than a metre behind Yukhei, eyes running across the cold-looking streets. There's not an inch clear of snow. 

From the corner of his eye, he sees a small shadow at the end of some alleyway - it doesn't strike him as unusual at first, but upon second glance, he's taken aback. Donghyuck whimpers slightly, grabs Yukhei rather forcefully by his sleeve, and stares. The rest of the street isn't exactly bright, but some things are distinguishable above the navy. Spindly arms, a blanket, trembling legs. 

Donghyuck wants to say _I didn't think twice, obviously_ , but, in truth, he overthinks it completely. Yukhei seems confused, but stays silent. Their train will have to wait - Donghyuck is walking, but each step feels heavy. It takes him too long. Every second wasted walking, he is suffering. No Johnny, no friends, nobody helping - he is not just enduring a bad situation, he is enduring it alone.

“Mark,” Donghyuck pants. He's not out of breath, but empathy snatches the air from his lungs. “Oh, God.” 

“He's blue,” Yukhei says, unhelpfully. Mark is blue, but Donghyuck doesn't need to be told that. His eyes haven't failed him so far, but he wishes they would - it's horrendous, with a small, shivering figure splayed across the cold concrete in a thin blanket. He's probably gone without food, too, so his body has nothing to burn but his own muscle inside the furnace of his torso. Guilt creeps inside Donghyuck, its slimy tentacles provoking every other unpleasant emotion he represses within. He should've helped earlier - right? Could he? Would Mark have let him?

Of course he would. Mark didn't strike him as the type to object to aid - Donghyuck suspects he's gone a life without anybody offering, that's all. He thanks Johnny inwardly, but worries - Mark shouldn't be alone. If anything, he should be at home - wrapped in a blanket in front of a warm, crackling fire, drinking soup, eating cardamom rolls, enjoying life. It’s a painfully striking image, reminding Donghyuck of how blue Mark’s skin is. It’s clammy, too. His heart is beating weakly, too drained of energy to bother, and Donghyuck prays hard to God. He wishes he'd never professed himself to be an atheist - it has to be divine intervention, right? It’s not that small of a city.

“Call an ambulance,” Donghyuck commands, repressing vomiting by speaking through a hand over his mouth. “Oh, God - I should've -”

“There's nothing you can do, Hyuckie,” Yukhei reassures, but he knows nothing. There was so much that Donghyuck could have done, he just missed his opportunity. His hands tremble from the cold, numb and distant from the grounded sound of Yukhei repeating the address, speaking gently to the operator, being calm. He's excitable at times, but kind-hearted. Donghyuck gags on all the cruel words he's used to describe Yukhei in the past. This is his just desserts, right? He deserves this - Mark doesn't. 

Not everything is karma, he knows, but this? Even if it isn't, he'll never recover if Mark doesn't. In some strange way, he's never felt so close to somebody in his entire life - nobody else has needed empathy in the same generous dosage. 

The word _hengenvaara_ has never tasted so bitter on his tongue.

-

“We brought balloons,” Jungwoo says, face melancholy. He squeezes the strings of the plastic balloons nervously, but he shares the same emotions as Donghyuck. A hospital can inspire nervousness in anybody, and Jungwoo? He's the human embodiment of anxiety. “But we weren't sure which ones to buy - we had to go for happy birthday. I mean…”

“Yeah,” Doyoung confirms. His eyes are serious, straight-laced, intense. He looks angry, but it's mainly discomfort. Donghyuck hates putting people in situations like this - he can't go it alone, though. He feels sick to his stomach. It feels like some sort of twisted waiting room meet-up.

“It’s okay,” Donghyuck mutters. 

He doesn't care. Mark won't, either. Homelessness doesn't make people picky. He can't bring himself to eat, sleep, study. His boss has rung him seven times, but he doesn't care. Jungwoo looks concerned, speaks in a concerned manner - “Oh, Donghyuck, you should be looking after yourself, too.”

He places his head against the hospital wall, groaning noncommittally. 

“No word from his parents. No word from Johnny. No word from anybody. I wish somebody would just care,” Donghyuck splutters, “so that I don't have to.”

That doesn't sound quite right. He does care, but it's easier to force emotion onto somebody else. Jungwoo sits quietly opposite him, but Doyoung leans forward slowly and asks, “You’ll be okay - and he will too, right?”

The thing is, Donghyuck doesn't have a clue.

“I don't know,” he admits. “Maybe. It’s a bad case of pneumonia at best, and in the worst case scenario...I don't know. I should've helped earlier, I could've…”

“You didn't know he was homeless,” Jungwoo says, quietly. His eyes flicker to the TV screen - there's some hard rock spilling softly out of the speakers like a metal lullaby, the swears censored out for general usage. To Donghyuck, the song lost its power to reassure him of his own reality after he'd heard it for the thirtieth time.

“I know,” Donghyuck says, “but...Why would he steal otherwise?”

Doyoung frowns. “This isn't your fault.”

“It feels like it,” he mutters. He picks a stray thread on his jumper’s sleeve. “I couldn't - I really couldn't have done more, could I?”

“No,” Jungwoo says. He walks over to him, pats his arm, kisses his the top of his head. “All you can do now is your best. Please, come eat something with us and sleep. You look tired, Donghyuckie.”

“I'm not,” he defends. “And I'm not leaving the hospital, for that matter.”

“Fine.” Doyoung stands up, holding out his hand. “But you'll come with us to the hospital café. Shitty stew and boiled potatoes is better than nothing, Donghyuck.”

He shivers. “Okay, I’ll - I know. I’ll come with you.”

-

When Donghyuck meets Johnny for the second time, it feels more - _melancholy_? 

It's not really sad, of course, but Johnny looks worse. His body doesn't carry an ounce of fat, his body so lithe it looks painful. Donghyuck wants to give him something - there's no word that can justify what the world has weathered Johnny down to, what a life on the streets has lead Mark to. The hospital bed lies between them as Johnny rests a bony hand on Mark’s chest. Reassuringly, the up-and-down motion of his breathing is a little rough, but consistent. 

So slowly, though. Donghyuck likes everything to be quick and easy, but this recovery process is taxing and unfair. _He hasn't been well for a long time_ , the doctor says, _so you'd best prepare for the worst, I'm sorry_. It hurts, but he still can't look him in the eyes. Not that they're open, of course. He's been sleeping soundly for a while, so Donghyuck attempts to engage Johnny. 

“Please,” Donghyuck pleads. “I'm trying to understand, but -”

“Do you want to know the truth, Donghyuck?”

“Yes,” he says, although _the truth_ seems like such an expansive and painful concept. He's not certain where this will lead him.

“The truth is that I thought I would hate you. And I don't, surprisingly. I thought that you wouldn't - I thought you were incapable, that you never could - understand. Maybe you don't. Maybe you do. I don't know, which scares me. We were so lonely for so long. I remember - it was - I remember coming here,” Johnny sighs. “To the city, I mean. I never thought I'd leave America - Mark didn't, either. Adoption is shitty enough as it is, but it's worse when your parents - I - I don't know. But we were happy for a bit, I think. I liked it when we were younger, when we laughed - it was summertime when we moved. And our school was good, too. A nice, big international one.

“But it didn't work. It didn't last. We got - hurt. So we left. We slept on sofas, street corners, shop shelves...Wherever. It wasn't too bad, though, until winter came. We were hungry year round, but in winter, we were hungry and cold. I felt bad - I felt terrible, even - for making Mark leave, but - I - I can't. I knew he was sick, but - I couldn't bare the thought of our parents - I couldn't - and they're not our _parents_ , no. I -”

“You could call them, right?” Donghyuck asks, hopefully.

He gets a withering look in response. “No, Mark - he wouldn't want that. He's sick, he doesn't need - he doesn't need them, not now. It's been too long, anyway. I help him and he helps me - I guess I failed. I couldn't look after him like I should've,” Johnny gushes. “It's my fault. I went to get food - I - I knew - thank you, I can't - I hated that school, Donghyuck. I hated it so, so much. It represented everything that my parents liked, and - I was so disappointed, really. When he told me one of you helped him, I thought it was a mistake. They used to burn money in front of us, Donghyuck. We were hungry. I guess - I guess now he'll eat...Even if he doesn't make it, I want to be here. There are things I need to apologise for.”

“Johnny…”

“Too many things, I - if I'm not here when he...Just tell him that Johnny says sorry. Sorry for ruining his life.”

“I will,” he says, gravely. 

“You're a good person. There aren't too many of them left.” Johnny stares behind his head, looking demurely out of the window. It’s snowing. “Here, when it snows, think about me.”

“You can't go,” Donghyuck begs. “He needs you, I -”

“I’m sorry,” Johnny whispers. “Mark, if you can hear me - I, oh God. I love you and I'm so, so sorry.”

-

Mark is stable.

That's one thing, of course, but it's on the tip of Donghyuck's tongue to tell Mark that Johnny isn't there for him when he needs to be. Now that he thinks about it, he only came to visit Mark once, and he was sleeping at the time. He seemed to be so free, so adaptable, so unattached to any plans or people - except Mark, that is. Donghyuck worries, but there's no international phone number for homeless kids who've gone AWOL. Actually, there probably is, but thus far, Johnny's been a bit too good about going under the radar. Appearing a little detached the last time they met, he’s overtly concerned for Johnny's wellbeing - if not for himself, but for Mark. He can't tear the two of them apart - even if it kills him, he knows that Mark shouldn't have to suffer like he did in the past. Johnny is the missing puzzle piece.

Donghyuck's parents aren't all too pleased, either. They understood a little - feeling empathy for a boy he saved off of the streets - but not really. A sense of empathy doesn't seem hard-wired in Donghyuck's DNA. After all, it took him seventeen years to discover it.

He thinks of before, like it's been centuries since. That dreadful night - the howling wind, the old man, the - as he'd called it - 'sob story’. He hopes Mark doesn't remember that part of him, but he doesn't seem the forgetful type. His senses are honed sharp from years of mistreatment; he's adequately suited for everything, being a deadly combination of agile and intelligent. For what he lacks in general knowledge - he did miss years of school, of course - he makes up for in common sense and, as peculiar as it feels to say, street smarts. From the moment Mark's eyes reopened, he saw experience - he wonders why he didn't notice it before, but it comes as no surprise (even to himself) that he didn't because he wasn't looking. People Mark’s age shouldn't be suffering to such extents, but there's no other past that Mark can have. Donghyuck can think of his happy childhood, can recount summer holidays to France and Portugal, is reliant upon those memories of playing tennis with his father and cooking with his mother. If he thinks hard enough, he feels himself ankle-deep in the warm sea, laughing with his father after he beat him repeatedly (even though he was probably going easy on him), tasting the spices of his mother’s soups mid-preparation. Those are what he can fall upon on - Mark, on the other hand, doesn’t have that reassurance. Of course, he only knows his past through a half-mumbled, confusing backstory that Johnny provided before he left, but, as much as Johnny confuses him, he doesn’t see why a lie would be necessary. His weary eyes and malnourished form tell a story that aligns with Johnny’s, so he tries not to press it any further. He doesn’t feel all too great, unable to bring himself to ask. 

He walks into the hospital room again. Donghyuck doesn’t have that much experience in hospitals - and the experience he does have isn’t pleasant, per se - and isn’t all too fond of the clinical feel, the cold floor, the judgemental nurses, but it must be ten times worse for Mark. He doesn’t complain about being fed or having a warm place to sleep, but Donghyuck can’t help but think he’s free-spirited, like Johnny. Being holed up in a room full of sick people can’t be the best for his mental health, but, since he doesn’t complain, nothing changes. 

It’s a regular occasion, though. Donghyuck visits Mark after school every day, without fail, and even if he’s asleep, he’ll stay. Even if he only gets two or so minutes of conversation, it’s worth it. He should be working, of course, but he can’t bring himself to lie about the convenience of his working there. If he feels he should be by Mark’s side, he should be, right? There’s no harm in his parents still thinking he’s slaving away behind a counter - his real, deciding exams are coming up soon, however, and even him working is putting them on edge. If it was up to them, he’d be studying for twelve hours straight.

Today, it’s completely dark as he walks from school. He catches the bus diligently, walks to the ward, and sweet-talks the nurse into allowing him. He does the same everyday, saying “it’s only once, miss” but, as always, it works easily. 

Mark _needs_ him. (He’s never said that he does, but surely, right? It’s nice to feel needed, even if it’s not completely real).

“Hi,” he says, propping himself at the end of Mark’s bed. 

He’s tried asking how long Mark will be in the hospital for, but there’s the lingering issue of where he’ll go after that also puts pressure on the nurses. Some of the colour has returned to his skin and he’s gained well-needed weight, but other than that, there’s no verbal indication of progress. His lungs still sound sore and he’s got a nasty cough, but Donghyuck suspects it can’t be too serious. Mark’s skin is warm to the touch, speaking honeyed words that don’t seem to fit with the person he knew beforehand. Nearly dying can do that to someone.

He has problems at home, sure, but Donghyuck can’t quite understand what will happen to Mark if - when - he recovers, since he’s probably got official guardians. Maybe he doesn’t want to know - the people who Johnny spoke of seem cruel, and if Mark gets handed straight back to them, they don’t seem like loving or accepting people who’d pity Mark’s struggle. His appeal would be rendered pointless, unable to escape a bad situation. It had to be pretty terrible - to escape it, Mark almost froze to death. 

“Hello,” Mark responds, simply. It helps, the easy-to-pronounce sentences. His words seem weirder the more he listens to him speak casually. “How was your day? I ate porridge, some soup, and my dinner is coming soon, so. I coloured in a picture of a parrot. I’m not a kid, but it was fun. Sometimes I’m so bored, Donghyuck. I just want to speak to Johnny, but…”

“He said he’d be back,” Donghyuck reassures. Did he, or is Donghyuck lying to both himself and Mark to ease the situation? “Don’t worry.”

“I’m glad you’re here, though,” Mark chuckles. He props himself up. “Tell me, then. School?”

Donghyuck snorts. “You’re acting as though it’s interesting. God, I wanted to blow my brains out at about eleven o’clock.”

“Hm? Why?”

“I was thinking about how pointless it all was. Got into a bit of a depressive funk,” he explains. “But when I’m with you, I feel hopeful. Does that make sense?”

“A bit, yeah.”

He smiles affectionately. “I dunno,” he continues. “It’s, like, you’re my rock. I have exams soon, and...I’m scared, really. If my parents knew I was here instead of work, they’d kill me...But I don’t care, y’know? I’m happy just being with you, seeing you get well…”

“Donghyuck, I know that you don’t - I know you won’t speak about why I’m here, but I don’t care. I’m not fragile. I can handle things.”

“I know,” Donghyuck admits. “I - I just think you’re so - so -”

“I’m so-so?”

“No, dumbass,” he teases. “What’s for dinner, then? Boiled cabbage soup?”

Mark laughs. “It’s potluck. One day, you’ll get oven chicken nuggets and a jelly pot, the next...Well, just soup, mainly. They say my digestion is pretty bad, so I don’t eat anything ‘stressful’. I might vomit, and that’s not good, ha? I like it when you visit, though,” he says, pausing slightly to focus on swallowing properly. “Did you -”

Donghyuck scrambles around in his bag for a second, tossing revision textbooks to the side as he roots for the box at the bottom. It’s buried beneath a lot of stuff, so he curses his organisation. Quietly, he presses the chocolates into Mark’s hands. “It’s not licorice, but...The chocolates, see, have salted caramel inside. It’ll do the trick.”

“You’re too nice to me, man.”

“You nearly died,” he sighs. “I think it’s common courtesy.”

Mark hums. “Maybe I’ll go out and get really cold so you’ll buy me a chocolate cake, hm?”

“Don’t joke - if you want cake, your wish is my command.”

Donghyuck’s phone rings, taking him aback slightly as the long-unheard ringtone blazes away. He picks up, seeing his father’s face staring at him down from the profile picture, and answers with a hazy, “Hey?”

_“You are in big trouble, mister.”_

“Dad, don’t -”

_“Where are you? You certainly aren’t working - Mr. Ylonen, the poor soul, hasn’t seen his employee in over a week. Not studying, either...We checked with all your friend’s parents, too. Are you doing heroin? You sound high, and I don’t approve of drugs. You should know that.”_

“I’m not high,” he sighs. “I - I’m at the hospital.”

_“I’m coming to pick you up. You’re going straight to work, apologising to Mr. Ylonen immediately and, just so you know, you’re grounded for the rest of your life. I’ll minimise that sentence to three months if you tell me why you’re at the hospital. You haven’t gotten into a fight, have you?”_

“Of course not. I’m visiting a friend.”

_“Without telling me? I don’t buy it.”_

“Well, you can -”

_“It’s beyond the point, Donghyuck. Too late for poor excuses and apologies.”_

-

It feels like it's back to before. Donghyuck thought that would be good for him - to return to normal, to go back to the way things used to be. It feels a bit pointless to concern himself with things that don't matter, he tells himself, but those are words straight from his parents’ mouths, not his. How could they even _imply_ that Mark doesn't matter? Yukhei visited once, said he seemed well, comforted Donghyuck by buying him a candy bar. He threw it up, but the sentiment lasted. 

_“It doesn't feel right,” he admitted._

_“I know,” Yukhei agreed, rubbing his back. “But they can't be mad at you forever.”_

It must be true. It has to be true, right? 

He feels a little lonely, trapped in an endless cycle of work, study and sleep, and suddenly, there's no time at all before his exams. His maths exam is at nine o'clock in the morning - currently, it's nearly ten the night before and he's climbing out of the window, dressed in jeans and two jumpers, into the garden tree. Usually, he'd be cramming or worrying, but so what? He'd rather fail maths completely than not see Mark.

Donghyuck isn't a complete idiot - he wouldn't be doing this if he didn't need to. Yukhei said Mark was doing fine, but that was a week ago, right? He won't be able to sleep if he doesn't see Mark. To Donghyuck, it feels like life or death.

His boss hates him, rightfully, so, at home, now's the perfect time. He doesn't care if he breaks a bone sneaking out, doesn't care if it aches all the way to the hospital. He needs Mark. Mark needs him. Donghyuck'll never forgive himself if he's worse than before. 

“I don't care,” he mutters. The hour hand on the clock stares at him judgmentally. “I don't fucking care.”

-

“You shouldn't be here,” Mark scolds.

“I don't care.”

“Donghyuck,” Mark repeats. “I don't want you here.”

“I -”

The air tastes funny when it's tense. The nurses let him in - “only once” - but Mark is actively shutting him out, preventing him from getting any closer. Donghyuck stands closer to the door than to the bed - perhaps he should leave. If he's not wanted, that is.

But why? Why doesn't Mark want him? He didn't leave on purpose, he must - he must know that, right?

“Mark,” he says. “I'm sorry. What can I do, I - there's too much, I can't - I didn't see you, my parents were - too strict. I needed you, I can't -”

“What you don't understand,” Mark says, “and what you will never understand is how much Johnny means to me.”

“I know, and -”

Mark frowns. “So why didn't you tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

_Please, no. Please, please, please. Tell me he didn't, Mark. Look me in the eyes and tell me he's okay, I - I don't think I could live with myself if he wasn't._

“They found a body, I - I thought, no,” Mark stutters. “I t-thought he'd hang on, for me. I don't know, it was just - I can't - not without him.”

“Do you -”

“They want me to look. Tomorrow morning, I - I wanted you to come with me, but you can't. I’m upset and I don't want you here, you could've said - he didn't say anything, did he? Before he left?”

_Johnny says sorry. Sorry for ruining his life._

“He said sorry,” Donghyuck quotes. His voice trembles - it shouldn't be so easy to pretend that nothing’s wrong. He doesn't want to cry, doesn't want to scare Mark, but it seemed - it seemed so uncertain. Johnny's actions after he felt aren't Donghyuck's responsibility - his message, however, is. He feels something stuck in his throat, like an apology he can't quite say. “For...your life.”

“My life?”

“Yes.”

Mark’s lip trembles. “You - I need _you_ ,” he whispers. He tries to hold in his tears, but it's too hard. The stability in his tone flip-flops, squeaks, shifts. Too close to tears, he envelops his face in his hands and sobs into his palms. Donghyuck wants to screw his eyes shut - he can't look. It's too invasive, too personal. There's no certainty to any of this, but Mark - Mark needs him. 

“I’m here,” Donghyuck promises. “Forever. For as long as you need me and after.”

“I - I’m sorry,” Mark wails. His face is blotchy and red, tears staining his cheeks with transparent streaks. Donghyuck doesn't see the need for an apology, unable to take it.

“Mark,” he says. He kneels down to meet his eyes, Mark still trembling in bed with blankets wrapped around his shoulders and knees pressed to his chest. “Mark, I can - I can come with you, if you want.”

“You have -”

Donghyuck swallows. “I know, and I don't care.”

“I-I won't impose on you, I - I want you to do well, no matter what happens to me. You deserve success.”

“It’s only maths,” Donghyuck jokes, softly. Mark smiles.

“No, please. Do it - for me, if nothing else.”

Donghyuck squeezes Mark's hand. “I need you,” he whispers. “Please, I need you to need me.”

“I don't just need you,” Mark answers. “I want you, too.”

“I want you.”

“I would kiss you, but - I look gross. And - hey, it'll be o-okay? Right. We'll be good, no matter what. Johnny - it might not. It won't - he wouldn't -”

“He wouldn't. As long as we're together, nothing bad can happen, okay? I helped you once,” he says. “I’ll keep on saving you, 'til the day I die.”

-

“Alkaa!”

Maths has never been Donghyuck's forté, and it's even less so when he can't stop thinking about everything but quadratic equations. His mind won't focus on surds or graphs when all that hides behind his eyes are thoughts of Mark and Johnny and the body, that unidentified corpse lying on a cold table, waiting to be prodded and poked and inspected. Mark shouldn't have to seen that - his eyes say he's already seen enough to last him a lifetime. He scribbles down some nonsensical working out and prays that Mark will be okay. He can't imagine it will work out, but he promised. The laws of the universe don't change for anybody - but for Mark, just this once? It doesn't seem unreasonable.

He thinks about everything - his life, his friends, Mark - but he needs to pass the exam, really. He can't make excuses and say it doesn't matter - it does. He feels a bit nauseous, thinking he could've studied a little more, but if only for his parents and his own pride, he tries to be the diligent student he once was. That world seems so far away, like he came from another galaxy entirely - he seems to have deconstructed himself and built another entity in the process. Mark’s hands are covered in the clay of his being, moulding him into a person that _cares_. He's never prided himself on being the friend who listens - “it's just not who I am” - and it hurts. He could've spent so much time caring. He feels spiteful, ungrateful, lonely. Halfway through the most pivotal exams he's ever taken is not the most ideal time to have the epiphany to become a better person, but it's better late than never. He smiles, thinks about visiting Mark - even though he's technically barred - and works harder than he ever has.

Besides, it's not like it really matters. He's got plenty of other good qualities - soon enough, he hopes he can prove he has more to him than quick quips. He can be the person he needs to be - for Mark, for Yukhei, for Jaemin, for Jeno, for Renjun, for Johnny. If he's not on the autopsy table, it's Donghyuck's responsibility to reunite him and Mark. Even if he didn't care about Johnny - which isn't true - there's no Mark without Johnny, and vice versa. He can't let Mark tear himself apart over him.

His pencil snaps five minutes to the end. He couldn't care less.

-

_Seven missed calls._

“What the fuck?” he asks, quickly running down the icy hill. It's probably a little dangerous - more than that, even - but after growing up around black ice and practically sprouting natural shoe guards of his own over the years, he's okay with moving on ice. 

_“I tried to call you, but your phone was turned off!”_ Yukhei defends.

“Maths exam,” he answers, simply. His heavy bag slams against his thighs and he whimpers slightly as he slips, hand hard-pressing against a brick wall and scraping the centre of his palm. “What happened?”

“ _Mark,_ ” he answers. “I don't understand it. I won't pretend to, but - he's nice, and I’m worried-”

“But what is it?”

_“He's gone. Got up and ran away, I guess. But it's scary, I - I don't know what to do, I couldn't get through to you and nobody would answer me. I'm not charming like you, but - I went to the hospital, asked for him, and he's gone. I couldn't -”_

“Johnny. Shit - Yukhei, where are you?”

 _“Waiting room,”_ he gasps. He seems out-of-breath, tired, exhausted. _“I can't - I'm worried.”_

“Please,” Donghyuck whispers. “Please be okay, please be okay…”

His phone vibrates sharply. Shit - he can't ignore people, can he? He's been doing it his entire life, but it seems unwise at the current moment. His father is annoying, but now? What's more important - Mark or his family?

He swallows. If he doesn't pick up, he'll never live it down. “Hi, dad,” he mutters, voice void of feeling.

_“Mr. Ylönen needs some help. Since you're free, could you pop in and help him? And remember you're grounded still, so consider your options wisely.”_

“Mark’s gone missing,” he begs. “Please, dad, you don't understand!”

_“Donghyuck, I won't have this discussion again. You're not getting attached to anybody while you have exams, so get to work now. If I find out you've not gone again, I'll…”_

Donghyuck lets out a large breath, slams his hand against his forehead and thinks. 

-

“Come on,” he mutters, dejectedly, to the pensioner picking at the Salmiakki packets again. A disjointed melody plays on the radio and he thinks that nothing will be okay again, but at least the man has stopped digging his fingers in the little black bags again. He can't muster the effort to really care, but if he lost this job, he'd be doubly murdered. Mark has to be somewhere, right? Maybe it's good - maybe he's looking for Johnny, which - which means the body's not his, right? 

Maybe he's going to find more friends, going to help them better their lives - maybe this isn't a negative. Maybe he's trying. Maybe they're all overthinking things, maybe -

“Please,” he tries, angrily stamping on the floor. “I'll have to ask you to leave, I -”

“Donghyuck, please,” the man grumbles. “I’m just trying to eat.”

“I won't hear it,” he snaps, “because you're just greedy! You don't need the food, man!”

“I do. My nurse doesn't feed me,” he grumbles. “But my family...Don't notice.”

“I - I don't understand,” he mumbles.

“It all goes on behind closed doors. You kids don't see, but when you get old, people take you for a fool.”

“I'm not - I - here, you can have a pastry or something, for free...The coffee machine’s bust, but we have a kettle in the staff room and...There's not many customers, so just…” He points to a seat. “I'll make you some tea, and we can talk?”

“Of course,” he says, gratefully. He places the Salmiakki down. “You are a very kind gentleman. Not many people admit their mistakes.”

“Yes,” he mumbles. His voice feels twenty miles away from his mouth. “Yes, maybe.”

“And a good person, too.”

It’s snowing. 

_You're a good person. There aren't too many of them left._

He can't move. Frozen in place, he closes his eyes and thinks. He promised. He promised Johnny. He promised Mark. Mark _needs_ him. He _needs_ Mark. He thinks of the cold - a blistering cold December day, blue skin, illness. His lungs whimper at the consideration. Inwardly, he feels rotten.

Maybe.

“Donghyuck,” the mouth says. He doesn't listen. He can't.

Over and over, it repeats. He wraps his arms around himself, shivering, and ignores the mouth.

But - 

“Donghyuck,” the man says, kindly. “You don't look too well. Here, young man... Will you call for somebody?”

Mark.

“Mark,” Donghyuck chokes. “Mark, I -”

_“I missed you, too,” he whispers. “I never meant to hurt you.”_

“I missed you, too.”

Mark's eyes meet his. His hand touches softly. It all feels unreal, like a candied dream. Honeyed and surreal, reality bends around their existence, and he smiles. Mark’s eyes wrinkle nicely when he does. _“I - I love you,” he says. “But I had to leave.”_

“No - you -”

_“And you forgive me?”_

“I -”

_“Really?”_

“I don't - I don't understand -”

Mark shakes his head. _“I need you, and you need me, right? Am I -”_

He doesn't finish - before Donghyuck even knows it, Mark is gone again. Like sand, he slipped from between Donghyuck’s fingers.

“Mark! Don't go!”

-

“Here, Donghyuck,” Yukhei offers. He hands him a tissue. “We'll find him, I know we will.”

“He was _there_ ,” Donghyuck sobs. “I felt him. He felt so real, so - it wasn't like a dream, it was - “

“Deja-vu?”

“Maybe,” he says. “I'm not sure.”

“Say - if it is, we'll figure that out later. Whether it was a dream or not, it has to be something, right? Whether it's your subconscious or not, I don't care.”

-

Donghyuck graduates. 

He doesn't expect to do as well in his exams as he does, but it's a nice surprise - straight As, no fails. He thinks of university, finding a pretty girlfriend, partying. Or at least, Yukhei does. He hears his friend talk so much about all those university-esque things that he almost absorbs it, but it's not really him. He's demure. 

He doesn't speak much. Yukhei doesn't comment on it, but as compared to the Donghyuck that couldn't close his mouth, there's nothing. His mouth is vacant of life. His eyes, however, are not - he's still looking, Yukhei thinks, even though it's been months. If Mark was coming back, he would've by now, right? They didn't want to hurt each other - if Mark left, it must've been for a good reason. He left no traces, not a rustled bedsheet - no letters, no words. Donghyuck swore for weeks after the ghostly experience that it had to be something, but was it? Was it just another delusion? Did it mean anything but a break in Donghyuck's thoughts? The stress, the sadness, the loss - did it not just accumulate into one thing, striking Donghyuck where it most hurt?

By now, Yukhei reckons he's a bit old for the convenience store job. He's finished school, finished it all, but he's still stacking shelves and absent-mindedly listening to Yukhei's (often incoherent) ramblings about his university excitement. He's going to the one in the centre of the city, he explains. He can't leave Donghyuck behind - not now. There's no way he'll ever get Donghyuck to leave, though. He's still looking.

Yukhei's two-thirds through his second bottle of chocolate milk as he says, “I mean, vodka is good and all, but so what? Drinking alone is one step away from euthanasia. Hey, Donghyuck -”

He meets Donghyuck's trembling form, dustpan and brush in his hands falling to the floor as his eyes focus across the street. _Mark._

It can't be real, but Yukhei sees it, too. He left, didn't he? Why _now_? When everything was getting better - when Donghyuck was forgetting it all - he comes back? He was good, for a while. Losing the ability to talk didn't mean Donghyuck was lost - locked inside his head, maybe, but still there. Yukhei hoped. But Mark - he can't leave again. Donghyuck was one step away from the void after the first time, but a second? Mark is just cruel, even without intending to be.

“Mark,” he says. “I - I missed you.”

The boy's face is more youthful, more clean, more pleasant to the eye. He looks well-fed, well-rounded, happy. All that he lacked is now drained from Donghyuck.

“I missed you, too,” he frets. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“You didn't.”

“I - I love you. But I had to leave.”

“I know.”

“And you forgive me?”

“I’d forgive you to end of the world, and back,” he answers. 

“Really?”

“Yes,” Donghyuck mouthes. “Because I need you, and you need me.”

“I need you, and you need me, right? Am I -”

“Yes. That's the idea, Mark. So-so.”

“You are so so-so,” Mark laughs.

Donghyuck smiles widely, holding Mark tightly as though he'll never let go. 

“I love you,” Donghyuck whispers.

Mark is inconvenient, unconvincing, everything - but he needs Donghyuck in the same way that Donghyuck needs him, and that's what matters.

-

**Author's Note:**

> my twitter - [@lovelike0xygen](https://mobile.twitter.com/lovelike0xygen)
> 
> I have a really bad habit of deleting things if they flop lmaooo :/


End file.
